Artie and the Grime Wave Read online

  Macaroni woofed and bounded ahead of them to the front door.

  Unlatching all the locks, Aunty-boy threw the door open. There, standing on the porch, were Nate and Wart.

  Chapter 16

  ‘We wanna word with you, Farty Artie,’ said Nate, his tiny eyes glittering.

  ‘Hehehe,’ chuckled Wart, who was hovering behind him, chewing on a raw onion. ‘You said “Farty”.’

  ‘Shut up, Wart!’ hissed Nate.

  PLAAACK! Aunty-boy clacked her dentures out at the two boys. ‘Off you go, butterscotches!’ she exclaimed. Macaroni began barking wildly.

  ‘We’re not talking to you, you crazy old biddy!’ Nate growled.

  ‘Don’t speak to her like that … please,’ said Artie quietly.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ grinned Nate. ‘What are you going to do about it, Farty?’

  ‘Hehehe … “Farty”. Again!’ snickered Wart.

  ‘SHUT UP, Wart!’

  Nate suddenly shoved Aunty-boy with all his might. The poor woman fell backwards into the doorway, as Nate slammed it shut on both her and her dog. Meanwhile Wart grabbed hold of Artie, lifted him up, and hung him by the collar from a coat-rack on the porch wall. He then moved swiftly to the door and put all his weight against it to stop Aunty-boy from coming back out. Behind the door Macaroni was still barking wildly.

  Nate swaggered over to where Artie dangled, his feet kicking helplessly in midair.

  ‘So, Farty …’ Nate began.

  ‘Hehehe,’ chuckled Wart again, but Nate spun around and glared at him. Wart gulped and fell silent.

  ‘Why did you go loony in Smeller’s class and run away?’ Nate continued. ‘Got something on your mind, have you?’

  ‘No,’ whispered Artie.

  ‘Well,’ he snarled. ‘Your fat friend Bumshoe has been trespassing at my dad’s work. My dad’s the mayor! Do you know what that means? It means he knows everything that’s going on. They caught your chubby friend, but it’s caused my dad a whole lot of trouble. According to reports, there was a skinny boy with him who escaped. Now seeing as you two are such good pals, I put two and two together, and guess what I came up with?’

  ‘Four?’ offered Wart.

  ‘No, not four, you meathead!’ snapped Nate. ‘I came up with Artie.’

  Wart looked baffled. ‘But two plus two equals …’

  ‘WILL YOU SHUT UP, WART!’

  Wart retreated into a bewildered silence, leaning against the door and chomping on the remainder of his onion. On the other side of the door Macaroni continued to bark furiously.

  ‘So my dad and the nice men who work for him are very keen to meet you,’ Nate continued. ‘That’s lucky, isn’t it? Because we’ve just been listening in on your conversation with crazy old Aunty-mental, and you two were on your way to the factory. So why don’t I escort you down there, and I can introduce you?’

  Before he knew it, Artie was shoved onto the crossbar of Wart’s bicycle. Wart clamped his hefty arms on either side of him and pushed off, dinking him down the hill to his doom.

  After all that raw onion, Wart began letting out a series of huge burps, and because he was leaning forward, Artie copped the full brunt of each stinking onion puff! Artie actually found himself wishing they’d hurry up and arrive at his doom so he didn’t have to inhale any more of that stench. He thought about Aunty-boy, and felt sick at the idea that she might have been hurt when Nate shoved her.

  ‘You’re gonna regret sticky-beaking around my dad’s work and causing him so much trouble…’ Nate called as he pulled alongside them on his incredibly expensive-looking bike. ‘My dad’s the mayor, you know! Nobody messes with my dad!’

  ‘Yeah!’ said Wart. ‘Nobody messes with Nate’s dad. His dad’s the mayor, you know!’

  ‘I just said that!’ snapped Nate.

  ‘Yeah, I know …’ said Wart.

  ‘Shut up, Wart!!!’

  ‘Okay, Nate.’

  Artie couldn’t believe it. Here he was, being dinked to his doom, having to listen to the dumbest conversation in history, and being burped all over by someone called Wart. Could things get any worse?

  He was pondering this turn of events when a dark flash of fur came flying through the air. It was Macaroni! He leapt up and snapped at Nate’s heels. Nate’s bike wobbled crazily and, screaming, he flew straight over the handlebars. Macaroni, meanwhile, circled back, jumped up and sank his fangs into Wart’s hefty thigh.

  ‘AAAAAARRRRRRGHHHH,’ came the horrible oniony shriek, as the huge boy lost control.

  Artie found himself bouncing softly into a pile of leaves by the roadside. Wart, however, landed with a thump on top of Nate, where he lay bellowing in pain.

  ‘Get off me, you big ape!’ yelled Nate, smacking Wart in the ribs.

  ‘I’ve been bit! I’ve been bit!’ cried Wart, clutching at his wound.

  ‘I DON’T CARE!’ screamed Nate. ‘GET OFF ME!’

  Macaroni raced about, snarling and snapping at the two of them as they crawled from the wreckage of their mangled bikes.

  ‘STATUE!!!’ came a familiar voice from right beside Artie. Macaroni immediately froze as still as a … well, as still as a statue. Artie looked up. There next to him, bobbing around and humming a little ditty, was Aunty-boy. Supporting her bicycle with one hand, she held out an open packet to Artie with the other, and gave it a shake.

  ‘Bickie?’ she chirped, and clacked out her falsies.

  Chapter 17

  Artie soon found himself in an even less comfortable position than the cross-bar of Wart’s bicycle: squished down into the front shopping basket of Aunty-boy’s bike.

  She was a truly dreadful rider. At every stop sign she began to speed up, whistling and humming as she careened between swerving cars. She veered all over the road, completely ignoring the painted lines. She sailed straight through red traffic lights, bringing cars to a screeching halt, and leaving a trail of near-accidents. If anyone beeped their horns at her or yelled things she would give them a little wave and a smile and then poke her dentures out at them.

  But despite the terrifying ride, his discomfort squashed up in the basket, and the fact that they were heading into a potentially horrifying situation at the factory, Artie felt surprisingly content. He was no longer alone on his adventure, and seeing all of Aunty-boy’s inventions had given him a new respect for her. Then of course there was their secret weapon, loping along joyfully beside them: Macaroni!

  For the first time since the whole awful encounter with Mayor Grime’s gang, Artie allowed himself to imagine that things might actually turn out alright. Maybe they’d arrive at the factory and Macaroni would round up the whole gang, who would then simply hand over Bumshoe and give themselves up. He could rescue Gladys’s tortoise and hand him back to her personally. Everything would be well in the world again!

  It was starting to get dark when they arrived at the factory. Immediately, it became clear that something was very, very wrong …

  The place was deserted. There were no security guards and the gates hung open. Apart from scattered rubbish, empty boxes and a few other signs of hasty departure, the factory itself was completely abandoned. A few feeble lights flickered on and off. There was no trace of the robbers’ gang in sight.

  ‘But they were here …’ said Artie, bewildered, as he wandered through the vast, echoing space. ‘I promise! They were right here. The place was full of stuff … Here’s where they were painting cars!’ he cried, pointing at an empty corner of the building. ‘And see! See that window? That was where I ran up all the musical instruments and bungee-jumped down using Funnel-web’s braces!’

  ‘Of course, of course, buttermilk pancake …’ said Aunty-boy, blinking at him through her glasses. ‘But there’s nothing we can do about it now, so it’s time to head home for some sweeties, a nice cup of cocoa, a little shower of baby powder, and off to bed! Care to join me for din-dins?’

  Artie looked at her sadly.

  ‘No. Thanks, Aunty-boy. I’ll b
e alright. I can walk home.’

  ‘Toodle-pip, then,’ said Aunty-boy, and she mounted her squeaky old bike and wobbled out of the factory, Macaroni trotting along behind.

  Artie had never felt so alone in his life. Alone and confused. What could have happened to Bumshoe? How could he get anyone to believe him now?

  He had no sooner turned to begin the long trudge home, when dark figures began pouring in through the doors. Funnel-web, Mr Budgie, and the workers from the factory were arriving from all sides. Nate and Wart were there too, battered and bruised from their recent encounter. Nate leered at Artie as he approached, holding up a mobile phone.

  ‘Have you heard of these?’ he snarled. ‘They’re called mobile phones. It’s how most of the world stays in contact. So I can call my dad and his friends and tell them that you’re on your way! Oh … but maybe you haven’t heard of them because you’re so poor!’

  ‘Yeah,’ Wart chimed in. ‘Maybe you haven’t heard of them because you’re so poor!’

  ‘That’s what I just said!’ snarled Nate, under his breath.

  ‘Yeah, I know, Nate,’ whispered Wart. ‘I was just lending you support. You know, kind of repeating it for effect …’

  ‘I don’t need your support! Think of your own things to say!’

  ‘It really hurts my feelings when you say things like that,’ Wart sniffed. ‘I’m only ever trying to help. Just because we’re bad doesn’t mean we have to be nasty.’

  ‘Yes it does! That’s exactly what it means, you gumby!!!’ bellowed Nate.

  Artie stared at his shoes. For the second time that day he was being subjected to a very tedious argument between the two bullies. He didn’t really know what to do while they bickered among themselves.

  ‘Boys, boys, calm down,’ croaked Funnel-web, stepping towards Artie. ‘We’ve got important work to do!’

  There was a sudden earth-shattering blast as burst through the main doors of the factory on his motorbike.

  Artie was trapped. Completely, utterly, horribly, inescapably trapped.

  Chapter 18

  Funnel-web and Mary were scary from a distance, but up close they were really, really, really scary. Mary’s ginormous bike growled to a stop centimetres from Artie’s toes, and he dismounted. Both men came right up close to Artie’s face and stared. Mary was smiling, but it wasn’t a nice smile, like the smile that Gladys gave him sometimes when she called out ‘Hello’ on the way to school, or the type that Bumshoe gave him when he rattled an open bag of Chococaramel-Cococreambombs at him, or the kind that his mum used to give him back in the Jurassic days when she’d ask if he’d like some mango with his breakfast. It was an awful and sinister smile, which, combined with his tattooed head, made Artie’s blood turn to ice.

  Funnel-web, however, was not smiling at all.

  ‘You stretched my braces beyond repair,’ he breathed, displaying the two long straps flapping uselessly by his sides. ‘And look at this!’ he cried, turning around and lifting the back of his filthy shirt. A huge red wound ran right up the middle of his back.

  ‘That’s from your wedgie! It looks like my bottom starts up at my neck. IT’S VERY EMBARRASSING!!’ he bellowed.

  ‘Sorry,’ Artie murmured. ‘Um … can you tell me where my friend is?’

  ‘Oh! Oh! It’s all about your friend, is it?’ sneered the spidery face. ‘No concern at all for my braces and giving me a wedgie, and causing me to have an embarrassing bottom???’

  ‘Would you like to see your friend?’ interjected Mary.

  ‘Yes…’ replied Artie timidly. Was Bumshoe still here at the factory somewhere? Maybe the gang was going to let him go … perhaps with a warning to stay away! Artie allowed himself a glimmer of hope.

  ‘Please, I’d really like to see him,’ he said.

  Mary and Funnel-web glanced at one another.

  ‘He’d like to visit his friend,’ said Mary.

  ‘Well, I suppose that’s only fair …’ said Funnel-web.

  ‘Quite so. Shall we take him for a visit?’ said Mary, whose smile was dissolving into a snicker.

  ‘Of course. We can all have a lovely dinner together.’ At this Funnel-web burst into laughter. Soon everyone was rocking backwards and forwards and cackling. Artie suddenly found himself missing his mum. Even though he knew at that moment she would probably just be lying in bed staring at the wall or watching the telly, he wished more than anything in the world that he was snuggling up next to her …

  But within minutes, he found himself in a car driven by Funnel-web, sandwiched in the back between Nate and Wart. Funnel-web, having captured Artie, now seemed very cheerful and kept turning around to the boy and baring his sharpened fangs in a horrific smile.

  Behind them, Artie could hear the rhythmic thudding of Mary’s motorbike. They drove through the dark streets, and began winding up the hills into the fancy part of town. The higher they climbed, the bigger the houses became, until finally Artie couldn’t see any houses at all because they were hidden among grand gardens behind massive walls.

  Eventually they arrived at a humungous gate, manned by security guards, which immediately swung open, allowing them to sweep inside. They drove up an inky gravel driveway which seemed to go on forever until, finally, they arrived at the biggest house that Artie had ever seen.

  ‘Welcome to Grime House,’ breathed Funnel-web.

  The car crunched to a stop and Artie was marched inside. Behind the enormous doors, the house was full of gold, marble and shiny, mirrored surfaces.

  Some truly awful artworks circled the grand entrance foyer. These included:

  1. A gigantic portrait of Nate as a ninja warrior flying through clouds on a winged horse, wielding a battle axe.

  2. A golden statue of an enormous muscle-woman, spinning the planet earth on her index finger as if it was a basketball.

  3. A sculpture of Mayor Grime as Moses in a toga, reading out the Ten Commandments from a stone tablet.

  Dumbfounded, Artie was led past walls of caged animals, which he had no doubt were once family pets like Gareth the tortoise. The poor beasts mewed, croaked, yapped and honked as he passed.

  From somewhere in the mansion there came a very odd and unpleasant cooking smell. In all his time preparing elaborate culinary creations Artie had cooked up some pretty stinky dishes, but nothing that stunk as strangely as whatever this smell was …

  Funnel-web and Mary dragged Artie by the wrist all the way down a long hallway. They passed what seemed like hundreds of closed doors and ancient portraits of people with tiny little eyes, who were obviously the Grime family ancestors.

  The boy’s heart was pounding furiously. He hoped he wasn’t about to have another attack of star jumps. Where were they taking him? What would he be subjected to next? His mind was galloping, trying to figure out a plan of action or escape, but nothing came to him.

  At the end of the hallway, Funnel-web stopped at a tiny door, barely taller than Artie himself.

  ‘Here we are!’ exclaimed Mary cheerfully, reaching for a set of keys inside his pocket. He bent down and, making little grunting noises of exertion, unlocked the door.

  ‘There you go, sir. Welcome to your suite,’ smiled Mary. ‘If there’s anything I can do to assist you during your stay at Grime House, please don’t hesitate to contact me or my colleagues. Your comfort is our number-one priority.’

  At this he and Funnel-web erupted into cackles. Funnel-web gave Artie a shove and the boy clanged down some metal stairs into a dingy cellar, with the robbers following him. A single light bulb illuminated the gloom. There in the corner, tied to a chair, was Bumshoe.

  ‘Artie!’ he cried. ‘I knew you’d come for me!’ Artie was overjoyed to see his friend still alive and apparently unhurt. ‘Sorry,’ Artie whispered. ‘Don’t know how much use I’m going to be to you …’ ‘Shut up, you two!!’ growled Funnel-web. ‘No talking allowed!’ He grabbed a chair and the two men began tying Artie back-to-back with his friend. Artie yelped in pain as the rope
cinched his wrists tight to the chair. ‘Now,’ said Mary, leaning in to him. ‘Mayor Grime sends his apologies, but he is currently rather pressed for time. He does ask that you please be patient, as he is trying to devise some special entertainment for you …’

  With that, the pair stomped up the stairs chuckling, then slammed and bolted the little door behind them.

  ‘Thought they’d never go!’ exclaimed Bumshoe. ‘Now, how are we going to get out of here?!’

  ‘Not a clue,’ replied Artie, wriggling his wrists in a futile effort to loosen the ropes.

  ‘Tell you what, I could do with a feed! This lot haven’t given me a bite to eat!’

  ‘Bumshoe …’ said Artie, quietly.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’m sorry I let you get caught. And then I just ran for it … I didn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘Don’t be a goober!’ exclaimed his friend. ‘You weren’t going to be much use to me chewed up in chunks by Tinkerbell, which is exactly what would have happened if you’d stuck around! Which reminds me …’ he went on. ‘Who calls a boy dog Tinkerbell?’

  ‘I had the same thought!’ Artie chuckled. Even though he was tired to his bones and in such a dire situation, it was a huge relief to be reunited with his friend.

  ‘What do you reckon they’re up to?’ said Bumshoe.

  ‘Well,’ said Artie, stifling a yawn. ‘Seems to me that they go out at night robbing the town. They take all the booty and hide it at the cave. Then, over time, they move it all to the factory to be altered a bit and have the serial numbers changed, and then they repackage it and sell it again.’

  ‘Why do they bring all the pets up here to Grime House?’ asked Bumshoe, also yawning. ‘Did you see them all down the corridor?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Artie mused. ‘No idea about that. You didn’t happen to see Gareth, did you?’

  But there was no reply, and Artie realised his friend had fallen asleep. He sat in deep thought, his mind running over all the possibilities, desperately looking for a solution, until he too finally drifted off into an uncomfortable and fitful sleep.